Chapter 21

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The hand-lettered marquee outside the elegant town house in Grosvenor Square reads:

An Evening of Theosophy and Spiritualism with

Madame Romanoff, Grand Seer of St. Petersburg.

to her, all things are known.

to her, all things are revealed.

One night only.

The London streets are an Impressionist painting of slick cobblestones, orangey

streetlamps, well-manicured hedges, and clusters of black umbrellas. Puddles splatter the

hem of my dress, weighing it down. We rush for the safety of the open doors, our delicate

dress shoes tapping out careful steps on the slick cobblestones.

The audience shows its breeding. There are men in tuxedos and top hats. Women with

their gems and opera gloves. We're all in our very best dresses. It feels strange and

wonderful to be in silks and petticoats instead of our usual school uniforms. Cecily has

taken the occasion to show off a new hat. It's far too old for her and makes her stand out

in a glaring way, but as it's the height of fashion, she's determined to wear it.

Mademoiselle LeFarge is in her Sunday best, a green silk dress with a high, ruffled collar,

a green silk bonnet, and a pair of garnet drop earrings, and we make a fuss over her.

"You look simply perfect," Pippa says as we enter the imposing marble foyer, brushing

past attentive butlers.

"Thank you, my dear. It's always important to look your best."

Cecily preens, certain she's been given a compliment.

We're ushered through heavy curtains to a conservatory that could easily hold two

hundred people. Pippa is craning her neck, inspecting the audience.

"Do you see any attractive men here? Anyone under the age of forty?"

"Honestly," Felicity chides, "you'd only be interested in the afterlife if there were a

chance to find a husband there."

Pippa pouts. "Mademoiselle LeFarge takes this seriously, and I haven't noticed you

mocking her!"

Felicity rolls her eyes. "Mademoiselle LeFarge has taken us away from Spence and to

one of London's most fashionable addresses. She could look for Henry the Eighth as far

as I'm concerned. Let's not forget our mission?"

Mademoiselle LeFarge slides her bulk into a red-cushioned chair and we file in behind

her. People are beginning to get settled. Down in front is a stage with a table and two

chairs. On top of the table sits a crystal ball.

"That crystal ball allows her to make contact with the spirits of the dead," Mademoiselle

LeFarge whispers to us as she reads her program. A gentleman behind us overhears our

whisperings and bows his head to Mademoiselle LeFarge.

"I am compelled to tell you, my good lady, that this is all sleight of hand. Magician's

trickery."

"Oh, no, sir, you are mistaken." Martha jumps in. "Mademoiselle LeFarge has seen

Madame Romanoff speak in a trance state."

"You have?" Pippa asks, wide-eyed.

"I have heard about her gifts from a cousin who is very close to a dear friend of the sisterin-

law of Lady Dorchester," Mademoiselle LeFarge asserts. "She is a truly remarkable

medium."

The gentleman smiles. His smile is kind and warm, like Mademoiselle LeFarge. It's a pity

she's engaged, for I like this nice man and think he'd make a very lovely husband.

"I'm afraid, dear lady, dear mademoiselle," he says, drawing out the word, "that you have

been deceived. Spiritualism is no more a science than thievery. For that's all this is—very

skilled dodgers stealing money from the bereaved for a little glint of hope. People see

what they want to see when they need to."

My heart is squeezed tight in my chest. Is it possible that I see my mother, my visions,

only because I want or need to? Could grief's hold be that strong? And yet, the scrap of

cloth. I can only hope I'll know something for certain by night's end.

Mademoiselle LeFarge's mouth is a thin line. "You are mistaken, sir."

"I've upset you. My apologies. Inspector Kent of Scotland Yard." He hands her an

embossed calling card, which she refuses to accept. Calmly, he places it back inside his

breast pocket. "You've come, no doubt, to contact a loved one? A brother or dear departed

cousin?" He's fishing but Mademoiselle LeFarge can't see that he's interested in more

than her preoccupation with the occult.

"I am simply here as an observer of the science, and as a chaperone to my charges. And

now, if you'll excuse us, it would seem the seance is about to begin."

Men rush along the sides of the room, dimming the lights to a hazy gas glow. They wear

high-collared black shirts and sashes of deep red around their waists. A handsome woman

in long, flowing robes of forest green takes the stage. Her eyes are rimmed with the

blackest kohl and she wears a turban with a single peacock feather. Madame Romanoff.

She closes her eyes and lifts a hand over the audience as if feeling us. When she reaches

the left side of the grand room, she opens her eyes and focuses on a heavyset man in the

second row.

"You, sir. The spirits wish to commune with you. Please, come and have a seat with me,"

she says in a heavy Russian accent.

The man obliges and takes a seat at the table. Madame Romanoff gazes into the crystal

ball and falls limp. In this state, she tells the man his fortune. "I have a message for you

from the other side…"

The man onstage, eager and sweaty, leans forward. "Yes! I'm listening. Is it from my

sister? Please, is it you, Dora?"

Madame Romanoff's voice comes out high and sweet as a girls. "Johnny, is that you?"

A cry of joy and agony escapes the man's lips. "Yes, yes, it's me, my dear, dear sister!"

"Johnny, you mustn't weep. I'm very happy here, with all my toys to keep me company."

We take this in, slack-jawed in wonder. Onstage, the man and his little sister are enjoying

a heartfelt reunion, with tears and protestations of undying love. I can barely sit still. I

want it to end so that I can take my place with the medium.

The inspector behind us leans over and says, "Brilliant performance. That man is an

accomplice, of course."

"How so?" Ann asks.

"They place him in the audience so that he appears to be an honest seeker, part of the

crowd. But he's in on the game."

"Do you mind, sir?" Mademoiselle LeFarge fans herself with her program.

Inspector Kent bows his head and settles back in his chair. I can't help liking him, with

his wide hands and heavy mustache, and I wish Mademoiselle LeFarge would give him

more of a chance. But she's loyal to her Reginald, the mysterious fiancé, as she should be

—even if we've never seen him call once.

After a glass of water, Madame Romanoff takes on several more people. With some she

asks questions that seem very broad, but the grieving audience members always rush in to

tell her their stories. It seems almost as if she leads them on, getting them to supply the

answers without her help. But I've never seen a medium at work before and I can't say for

sure.

Felicity leans over and whispers in my ear. "Are you ready?"

My stomach is turning flips. "I think so."

Mademoiselle LeFarge shushes us. Elizabeth and Cecily eye us suspiciously. Onstage,

Madame Romanoff asks for one last candidate. Like a shot, Felicity is out of her seat,

pulling me up by the arm.

"Oh, please, madame," she says, sounding as if she's on the verge of tears when she's

really fighting back waves of laughter. "My friend is far too modest to ask for your help.

Could you please help a girl reach her dear, departed mother, Mrs. Sarah Rees-Toome?"

There is a chorus of murmurs and gasps. Every bit of breath has been knocked from me.

"That was unnecessary," I hiss.

"You want it to be believable, don't you? Besides, you might get something in the bargain

up there."

"Girls, sit down at once!" Mademoiselle LeFarge pulls hard on my skirt, trying to anchor

me to my seat. But it's no use. Felicity's plea has struck a chord with Madame Romanoff.

Two of her men are at my side, showing me down the aisle. I don't know whether to kill

Felicity or thank her. Perhaps there is a way to contact my mother as well. My palms go

sweaty with the thought that in just a few moments, I may speak with my mother again—

even if I have to do it through a medium and the spirit of Sarah Rees-Toome.

As I mount the small stage, I can hear the rustle of programs, the insect buzzing of

whispers mixing with the sighs of the disappointed whose chance to contact the dead is

gone, usurped by a red-haired girl whose green eyes are wild with hope.

Madame Romanoff bids me sit. There is an open pocket watch on the table showing the

time to be 9:48. She reaches across the table to cradle my hand in both of hers. "Dear

child, you have suffered greatly, I fear. We must all help this young lady find her beloved

mother. Let us all close our eyes and concentrate for the aid of this young girl. Now, what

is the name of the dearly departed?"

Virginia Doyle. Virginia Doyle. My throat is parched and tight as I say, "Sarah Rees-

Toome."

Madame Romanoff swirls her fingers over the glass ball and drops her voice into a lower

register. "I call now on the spirit of Sarah Rees-Toome, beloved mother. There is one who

wishes to contact you. One who needs your presence here."

For a moment, I half expect to hear Sarah tell me to shove off, leave her alone, stop

pretending I know her. But mostly, I'm hoping that it will be my mother's voice I hear

next, laughing at my duplicity, forgiving me for everything, even this bit of trickery.

Across the table, Madame Romanoffs deep growl grows sweet as prayer song. "Darling,

is that you? Oh, how I've missed you so."

It's only now that I realize how I've been holding my breath, hoping for a chance, waiting

for a miracle. My heart is beating wildly in my chest, and I can't help calling out to her.

"Mother? Is that you?"

"Yes, darling, it's me, your loving mother." There are a few sniffles from the audience.

My mother would never say something so coddling. I throw out a lie to see if it comes

back to me.

"Mother, do you miss our home in Surrey terribly much? The rosebushes out back by the

little cupid?"

I'm begging for her to say, "Gemma, have you gone a bit simple, dear?" Something.

Anything. But not this.

"Oh, I can see it even now, my darling. The green of Surrey. The roses in our wonderful

garden. But do not miss me too much, my child. I shall see you again one day."

The crowd sniffles and sighs in sentimental approval even as the lie turns sour in my gut.

Madame Romanoff is nothing more than an actress. She's pretending to be my mother,

someone named Sarah Rees-Toome who lives in a cottage with a cupid out back, when

my own mother was Virginia Doyle, a woman who never once set foot in Surrey. I'd like

to show Madame Romanoff a taste of what it's really like on that other side, where spirits

are not happy to see you. I don't realize that I'm holding Madame Romanoffs hand with

all my strength, because there's a sudden flare of light, like the world opening up, and I'm

falling into that tunnel again, my rage pulling me down fast.

But this time, I'm not alone.

Somehow, I've managed to bring Madame Romanoff along, as I almost did with Pippa. I

haven't the vaguest idea how it's happened, but here she is, bold as day, screaming her

head off.

"Bloody 'ell! Where am I?" Madame Romanoff is Russian all right, by way of Bow's

bells. "Wot kind of devil are you?"

I can't answer her. I'm struck dumb. We're in a dark, misty forest—one I recognize from

my dreams. It has to be the same misty woods Mary Dowd wrote about. I've done it. I'm

in the realms. And they are as real as the screaming little thief next to me.

"Wot's that, eh?" She grabs tight to my sleeve.

There's movement in the trees. The mist is crawling. They start to come out, one by one,

till there are twenty or more. The dead. Hollow-eyed. Pale-lipped. Skin stretched shinytight

over bone. A woman in rags carries a baby at her breast. She's dripping wet and

strings of slick, green vegetation hang twisted in her hair. Two men stagger forward, arms

outstretched. I can see the rounded knob of bone where their hands have been chopped

clean off. They keep coming, their mouths all making the same hideous murmur.

"Come to us. You've come to us."

Madame Romanoff is shrieking and practically climbing up my side. "Wot the 'ell's goin'

on 'ere? Sweet Jesus, get me out of 'ere. Please! I'll never con nobody no more, on me

mother's grave I won't."

"Stop," I say, holding out my hand. Surprisingly, it works. "Which one of you is Sarah

Rees-Toome?"

None of the spirits come forward.

"Is there one among you by that name?"

Nothing.

"Tell them to go away," Madame Romanoff says. She grabs a tree limb from the ground

and swings it wildly in front of her, warding them off and grunting in fear. Through the

trees, I see her. The blue silk of her dress. I hear the warm amber of her laugh.

Find me if you can, love.

I grab Madame Romanoff by the shoulders. "What's your name? Your real name."

"Sally," she says, hoarse with fear. "Sally Carny."

"Sally, listen carefully to me. I've got to leave you for a moment, but I'll be right back.

You'll be all right."

"No! Don't you leave me 'ere wif them, you li'l slut, or I'll carve your creepy green eyes

out when we get back! You see if I don't, now!"

She's screaming, but I'm already running through the trees, the hope of blue just ahead of

me, always out of reach, and then I'm in the ruin of a temple. A Buddha sits cross-legged

on an altar surrounded by candles. It's peaceful here. There's no sound save for the cooing

of birds. No fear. I let my fingertips flutter against the orange-blue flame of the candles

but I feel no heat or pain. A soft scent of lilies floats through the open door. I wish I could

see those flowers of my childhood, of my mother and India, and then suddenly, they're

everywhere. The room is filled with blooming white flowers. I made it happen with just

my thoughts. It's so beautiful, I could stay here forever.

"Mother?" My voice comes out small and hopeful.

The room grows brighter. I can't see her, but I can hear her. "Gemma…"

"Mother, where are you?"

"I cannot show myself here or stay for long. These woods may not be safe. There are

spies everywhere."

I don't know what she means. I still cannot grasp that I am here. That she is here.

"Mother, what's happening to me?"

"Gemma, you have great powers, my love."

Her voice reverberates in the temple. My love, love, love ...

My throat tightens. "I don't understand it. I can't control any of it."

"You will, in time. But you must use your power, work with it, else it will wither on the

vine, die, and then there's no getting it back. You have a great destiny, Gemma, if you

choose it."

The organ-grinder's monkey appears. He sits on the Buddha's rounded shoulder, turning

his head this way and that, watching me.

"There are people who don't want me to use what I have. I've been warned."

Mother's voice is calm, knowing. "The Rakshana. They're afraid of you. They are afraid

of what could happen if you fail, and more afraid of the power you'll have should you

succeed."

"Succeed in what?"

"Bringing back the magic of the realms. You are the link to the Order. Their magic lives

in you, my love. You are the sign they've been waiting for all these years. But there is

also danger. She wants your power too, and she won't stop looking till she finds you."

"Who?"

"Circe." Circe. Circe. Circe.

"Who is she? Where can I find her?"

"All in good time, Gemma. She is too powerful for you to face yet."

"But…" Tears stop me. "She murdered you."

"Do not lose yourself to revenge, Gemma. Circe has chosen her path. You must choose

yours."

"How do you know all of this?"

The edges of the lilies start to turn. They brown and curl under, leaves dropping to the

stone floor.

"Our time is up. It's no longer safe for you to stay. Go back now."

"No, not yet!"

"You must concentrate on the place you've left behind. The door of light will appear.

Then step through."

"But when can I talk to you again?"

"You can find me in the garden. It is safe there."

"But how—"

"Choose it and the door will take you there. I must move on."

"Wait—don't go!"

But her voice fades into an icy sheet of whispers that melts into ether.

Move on. Move on. Move on.

The light goes so bright, it blinds me. I have to cover my eyes with my arm. When I open

them again, the temple is a barren ruin, the dirt floor littered with shriveled flowers. She

is gone.

The mist is thick in the trees as I make my way back to where I left Sally Carny. I can

barely see, but it's not the fog. It's the tears. More than anything, I want to stay behind in

that lily-scented room with my mother. A dark figure looms on the path ahead, and for a

moment, I forget everything except the terror in my veins, my mothers warning that I am

being hunted.

A tall, broad-shouldered man steps out. He wears the military uniform of Her Majesty's

guards—not an officer, but a foot soldier. He approaches me shyly, holding his hat in his

hands. There's a sweet boyishness to his face that's familiar. Except for the unearthly

pallor, he could be the neighbor across the way or the loved one from a family

photograph.

"Begging your pardon, but are you the one that's with my Polly tonight?"

"Polly?" I repeat. I am speaking to a ghost, so I can be forgiven any breach of manners. I

am sure I've seen him before.

"Surely I saw you there with her—Miss Polly LeFarge?"

A man in a uniform. A faraway smile. A fading tintype on a tidy desk. Reginald,

Mademoiselle LeFarge's beloved fiancé, is dead and buried, nothing but a memory she

can't let go of.

"Do you mean Mademoiselle LeFarge? My teacher?" I ask quietly.

"Yes, miss. My Polly often talked of teaching, but I promised her I'd make a right good

bit of money in the army and then I'd come home and take care of her proper, with a

church wedding and a little cottage in Dover. She loves the sea, Polly does."

"But you didn't come home," I say. It's more of a question than a statement, as if I still

hope that he might walk into her classroom someday.

"Influenza," Reginald says. He looks down at his hat, twirls it round in his hands like a

wheel of fortune at a country carnival. "Would you give Polly a message for me, miss?

Could you tell her that Reggie will always love her, and I've still got that muffler she knit

for me that Christmas before I left? It held up fine, it did." He smiles at me, and though I

can see the blue of his lips, it's still a good smile, a true one. "Would you do that for me,

miss?"

"Yes, I will," I whisper.

"Much obliged to you for helping me cross over. And now, I think you should be getting

back. They'll be looking for you here if you stay." He places his hat on his head and

strolls back into the mist from whence he came, till he disappears entirely.

When I return to Madame Romanoff, otherwise known as Sally Carny, she's singing old

church hymns in a shaky voice. The dead have all gone, but she's still holding on to that

tree branch for dear life. She sees me and nearly jumps into my arms. "Please take me

back!"

"Why should I take you back after the cavalier way you treat people who are grieving for

their loved ones?"

"I never meant no harm, miss. I swear it! You can't blame a girl fer makin' a livin', miss."

I can't, really. If she weren't doing this, Sally Carny would be on the streets, having to pay

her way through far more odious, soul-crushing means. "All right. I shall take you back.

But only under two conditions."

"Anything. You name it."

"First, you shall never, ever, under any circumstances—and that includes public

drunkenness—tell a single soul what has happened here tonight. Because if you do…" I

trail off, not really sure what threats I can make, but it doesn't matter. Sally's got her hand

across her heart.

"As God is my witness. Not a word!"

"I shall hold you to that. As for the second condition…" I'm thinking now of

Mademoiselle's kind face." You will convey a message from the spirit world to someone

in the audience tonight, a woman named Polly. You are to say that Reggie loves his Polly

very much, that he still has the muffler she knit him at Christmas." I add this next bit on

my own. "And that he wishes her to move on and be happy. Do you have it?"

The hand goes to the heart again. "Every word." Sally puts an arm about my shoulders.

"But Miss… wot would you think a joinin' up wif me and me boys? Wot wif your gifts

and me promotion, we could make a fortune. Fink on it. That's all I'm sayin'."

"Fine, stay, then."

"Forget I said anything!" Sally shrieks, and I feel reasonably sure I've scared her into

keeping her mouth shut. Now, to get back. Mother said to think of the place left behind.

But I've never tried it before, and I'm not sure I can do it. For all I know, Sally and I could

be trapped here in the misty woods forever.

"You do know 'ow to get us back, don't you?"

"Of course I do," I say, irritated. Dear God, please let this work. With Sallys hand in

mine, I concentrate hard on the lecture hall. Nothing happens. I open one eye and we're

still in the woods, Sally in a state of complete panic beside me.

"Holy Mother of God! You can't do it, can you? Sweet Jesus, save me!"

"Will you be quiet?"

She settles into singing old hymns again. Beads of perspiration break out along my upper

lip. I close my eyes, and think only of the lecture hall. My breathing grows louder and

slower. There's a pulling sensation. The edges of the forest fold into mist; the mist folds

back into a great hole of light, and then we are once again on the lecture hall stage. It has

worked! The ticking of the pocket watch is a comfort to my ears, as is the time: 9:49. Our

whole excursion into the spirit world has taken only a minute, though Sally Carny's face

seems to have aged ten years in that brief time. I've been changed too.

"Madame Romanoff" is back, speaking in a shaky voice.

"I am receiving a communication now from another part of the spirit world for someone

named Polly. Reggie wishes her to know he loves her with all his heart…" She trails off.

"Muffler," I prompt, through clenched teeth.

"That he has the muffler from Christmas and that she must live happily without him. That

is all." She makes a high moaning sound and falls slumped against her chair. Seconds

later, she "awakens."

"The spirits have spoken, and now I must rest my gifts. I thank you all for coming this

evening and remind you that I will be communing again in Covent Garden next month."

As the audience applauds, Sally "Madame Romanoff" Carny leaps from her seat and

retreats off into the wings, where her confused lackeys wait for an explanation of

tonight's deviation from their plan.

"I knew you were up to something!" Cecily whispers, taking my arm. "Was it

extraordinary?"

Elizabeth cuts in. "Did you see the spirits enter Madame Romanoff's body? Did her hands

go ice cold? I've heard that can happen."

I am suddenly the most popular girl at Spence.

"No. I saw no spirits. Her hands were warm and far too moist. And I'm fairly certain her

rings were paste," I say, walking quickly, putting as much distance between

Mademoiselle LeFarge and me as possible.

Elizabeth pouts. "But what shall I write my mother of tonight's experience?"

"Tell her to stop wasting her money on such nonsense."

"Gemma Doyle, you are an absolute horror," Cecily grouses.

"Yes," I say, ending my one-minute reign as Queen of Spence.

"What a fake," Felicity announces as I join the throng making its way out of the lecture

hall. "She believed that bit about Sarah being your mother's name. And then instead of the

real Sarah Rees-Toome we get some lovesick Reggie calling for his Polly."

"Whatever is the matter with Mademoiselle LeFarge? I thought by now she'd be

threatening to give us forty bad-conduct marks each," Pippa whispers.

"She's probably waiting for the ride home," Ann says, looking terrified. "She'll most

likely tell Mrs. Nightwing what we've done and we won't be able to attend the tea dance

next month."

This makes even Felicity blanch, and I'm certain to end up in the stocks or the equivalent.

Mademoiselle lags several paces behind us. She doesn't seem particularly grim. Instead,

she dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief and smiles at Inspector Kent, who offers to

escort us to our carriage.

"I think everything will be just fine," I say.

The crowd is a thick knot of people all trying to get to their carriages without getting wet.

I'm separated from the rest of them when an older couple charges ahead of me and slows

down to a near halt. I can't get around them and I can just make out Felicity's blond head

moving farther away.

"Can I help you, miss?" The familiar voice is followed by a familiar hand yanking me

into a small alley beside the grand house.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Kartik.

"Watching you," he says. "Care to tell me what tonight's little stunt was all about?"

"It was just a laugh, that's all. A bit of schoolgirl fun."

My name is shouted out on the street.

"They're looking for me," I say, hoping he'll let me go.

He grips my wrist tighter. "Something happened tonight. I could sense it."

I start to explain. "It was an accident…"

"I don't believe it!" Kartik kicks hard at a stone on the ground, sends it flying.

"It's not what you think," I babble, trying to defend myself. "I can explain—"

"No explanations! We shall give the orders and you shall follow them. No more visions.

Do you understand?" His smirk is contemptuous. He's waiting for me to tremble and

agree to his terms. But something inside me has changed tonight. And I cannot go back.

I bite his hand and he yelps, dropping my wrist.

"Don't you ever speak to me that way again," I snarl. "I am no longer content to be the

scared, obedient schoolgirl. Who are you, a stranger, to tell me what I can and cannot

do?"

He growls at me. "I am Rakshana."

I laugh. "Ah, yes—the great and mysterious Rakshana. The powerful brotherhood who

feel threatened by things they cannot understand and have to hide themselves behind a

boy" The word hits him as if I had spit. "You're not a man. You're their lackey. I don't care

about you, or your brother, or your ridiculous organization. From now on, I shall do

exactly as I wish and you cannot stop me. Do not follow. Do not watch. Do not even

attempt to contact me or you'll be sorry indeed. Do you understand?"

Kartik stands, rubbing his wounded hand. He's too shocked to say anything. For the first

time, he's utterly silent. And that's how I leave him.

Mademoiselle LeFarge never does reprimand us. She sits silently the whole ride back, her

eyes closed, a sad smile on her face. But in her fingers is the inspector's calling card.

Between the jostling of the carriage and the long evening, everyone has fallen into a

twilight sleep. Everyone except me.

I'm on fire with what I've seen tonight. Everything in Mary Dowd's diary is the truth. The

realms are real, and my mother is there, waiting for me. Kartik's warnings are nothing to

me now. I don't know what I'll find through that door of light, and truthfully, I'm a little

afraid to find out. The one thing I do know for certain is that I can no longer ignore

whatever power this is inside me. The time has come.

My hand is on Felicity's shoulder, shaking her gently awake.

"Wh-what is it? Are we back?" she says, rubbing her eyes.

"No, not yet," I whisper. "I need to call a meeting of the Order."

"Yes, lovely," she says drowsily, closing her eyes again. "Tomorrow, then."

"No, it's important. Tonight. We must meet tonight."